


Take a Breath and Take the Plunge

by polkdots12



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Awkward Flirting, Blaine is cute, Disney References, First Meetings, Fluff, Inspired by Art, Isabelle works her magic, Kurt is awkward, Light Angst, M/M, Meet-Cute, Vogue Employee Kurt Hummel, being alive, sondheim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkdots12/pseuds/polkdots12
Summary: Kurt Hummel is sitting on the floor in New York's Museum of Modern Art, and he really needs some inspiration for his latest Vogue assignment on fashion pick-me-ups. Said inspiration arrives in the form of one Blaine Anderson. Cuteness ensues.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place during Kurt's first year in New York. Kurt and Blaine have not met before, but everything else is pretty much the same. 
> 
> There's also quite a lot of talk about this piece of art by a French painter called Henri Matisse, but I promise it's nothing to be afraid of: https://www.moma.org/calendar/galleries/5119 You can check it out, but it's not necessary, and I'll also include some photos at the beginning just so that you can imagine the setting better.

Kurt is reminiscing about Disney movies and long-ago summers days spent by the lakeside as he stares at the dynamic blue-white shapes swirling all around him in the exhibition space on the fourth floor of MoMA. He is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room housing Henri Matisse’s _Swimming Pool,_ with a leather-bound sketchbook in his lap, doodling absentmindedly as his hand tries to keep up with the thoughts and images in his mind.

He thinks about the feeling of being inert whilst everything else is in flux, whilst everyone else around you marches forth confidently, either in this museum or on the streets of this city, bagel in one hand, phone in the other. He thinks about sunshine, freedom, exultation—about the brilliance of the world when all the sun’s rays get scattered by drops of water so that everything appears to shimmer and glow. And he thinks about isolation and despondency and the slow dying of the light as you watch all that joy and life through a window or through protective glass, but plunging in feels impossible.

“None of this is good enough,” he huffs frustratedly after a while, poking the air with his pencil for emphasis. He puts aside his notebook and closes his eyes, letting his head tilt backwards and his mind wander to anything other than his current _Vogue_ assignment. “Give me something fun and frivolous, Kurt!” Isabelle had said with all her characteristic exuberance. “Something that makes me aware of being alive. I want a fashion pick-me-up for our readers so that we can all stop wallowing in the dreariness that is New York in late winter and remember that clothes are all about play and joy and experimentation.”

And Kurt tried. And he tried, and tried again, harder. But after he proposed an article about matching your sweater to the exact shade of slush outside, Isabelle gave him a stern look and a press pass to the Museum of Modern Art. “You need a change of atmosphere, honey. Go get inspired by great art!” So Kurt has found himself surrounded by paper cutouts of swimmers, divers and sea creatures, after having listened to Sondheim’s _Being Alive_ on repeat on the way to the museum. _Make me aware of being alive,_ she said.

He sighs as he glances at his scribbles again. The field trips Isabelle sends him on – to the Met, the Whitney, the Guggenheim – usually work wonders for his creativity. He still remembers how energized he felt upon first wandering into this same room in MoMA back in September. He’d just arrived in the city, and he felt his own eagerness to dive into his new life reflected in the frenzied energy of the figures on the wall as they dove into the water. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t feel that same enthusiasm now. He only knows that he’s been in his dream city for half a year now and life is _good_ and usually he loves every day he spends in New York. But right this moment it’s January and the grey melting snow certainly does not shimmer in the sunshine the way blue water does. And Kurt still goes to sleep alone every night. And _alone is alone, not alive._

***

Kurt’s ceiling-gazing is interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, but he refuses to move his limbs up off the floor or his eyes away from the bright lights above him. He only gets suspicious after about 5 minutes of nothing but silent breathing from the direction of the entryway to the room, paired with a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. 

He turns his head towards the entrance, and _oh,_ the boy leaning against the wall underneath two naked female figures surrounded by apples is _gorgeous._ The lines of his body scream sin and temptation in much the same way as the lush scene above him does.

But it is his slightly parted lips and, above all, his eyes that make Kurt draw in a sharp breath. They are dark and wide and sparkling, filled with something akin to wonder. They are also trained directly on Kurt, only flitting away for the sake of a quick bashful glance downwards once the boy realizes he’s been caught staring. But then they’re back and meeting Kurt’s own gaze and they’re still dark and wide and sparkling and the boy _does not speak._

Kurt breaks the silence with an amused little huff. “You do realise I’m not part of the exhibit, don’t you?”

“Oh?”

“You’re meant to be looking at the art?” Kurt emphasizes the last word, and gestures at the frieze covering the walls with all the playful faux-haughtiness he can muster.

“Oh. Um... I thought I was?” The boy finally offers up, and the words might be flirty, but the delivery is somehow both confident and shy, and they come with a definite blush, which makes Kurt blush, too.

“You certainly fit in well enough in these clothes,” the boy quickly adds, gesturing to Kurt’s outfit. Kurt’s wearing cornflower-blue pants and a low-cut white T-shirt, pulled together by a white scarf with abstract blue shapes tied around his neck. He may or may not have snuck into the Vogue vault for the scarf after Isabelle gave him the press pass.

Kurt decides to take that as a compliment. He thinks once more about _diving in_ and _going with the flow_ and _jumping in headfirst_ , then pats the floor to his right in invitation once his brain runs out of water-related metaphors for taking risks. “Maybe you need to stay for a while and do a bit more looking to learn to tell the difference between people and works of art,” he quips, figuring that an art museum is as good a place as any for practicing flirting with pretty boys. At least he gets to potentially embarrass himself in relative privacy, given that it is early afternoon on a weekday in off-season, so not many visitors are around.

The boy joins him on the floor with an easy smile, extending his legs out in front of him and leaning back on his hands. Kurt’s been eyeing his yellow-orange pinstripe bowtie that clashes so intriguingly with his casual dark blue jeans and T-shirt for some time now, which is his only excuse for blurting out, as soon as the boy gets comfortable, “So do you always wear bowties when you visit museums?”

And apparently he needs a lot of flirting practice, because what even is that question? Meet-cute scene material it is certainly not. Kurt would know that, as he’s constructed enough of those scenes in his mind over the past few months and even before, when he only dreamt about living in the city and finding L-O-V-E. 

Luckily, the boy seems more preoccupied with Kurt’s open sketchbook in front of them than with his bumbling attempts at conversation. “No, I only wear bowties to museums when I think I might run into pretty boys who also come from Ohio,” he finally replies with a happy smile, pointing to one of the small sketches Kurt made earlier. “My schoolmates and I sometimes go swimming to the Grand Lake on weekends if the weather is nice. Although we are probably not as well-dressed as your stick figures.”

“Oh,” Kurt breathes. This sinfully attractive boy – from Ohio! – just called him _pretty._

“You captured the lakeside really well. You’re talented… Kurt Hummel,” the boy says cheekily after checking his name on the front of the sketchbook. “And you clearly know your Disney quotations, too! And your Sondheim.” He adds, tracing over Kurt’s scribbled notes of _Just keep swimming_ and _Somebody crowd me with love_ just below the lake scene.

So Kurt’s now been called _pretty_ and _talented_ by a sinfully attractive boy from Ohio who can recognize the words not only from _Finding Nemo,_ but also from _Company,_ and they’re still sitting in the middle of a room in MoMA and Kurt’s feeling more alive than he has in a long time and his brain is absolutely screaming at him to _take the plunge_. By some miracle, he actually manages a hesitant smile and a half-decent answer.

“Thanks. I’m just trying to put together a mood board for an article I’m working on. But I used to go to the lake a lot, too. With my mom and dad, when I was very young. This,” he nods towards the artwork on the wall, “reminds me of those happy times.” He tries to mask the wistfulness in his tone, but he’s not sure how successful he’s being.

It turns out that he’s not very successful at masking almost anything when it comes to this boy. Somehow, he finds himself telling him about his internship at _Vogue_ and his struggles with his current assignment. He babbles to him about the Matisse-work that they’re looking at. About how Matisse made it when he was really ill and constrained to a wheelchair and couldn’t really paint, so he started cutting out shapes from coloured paper. The _Swimming Pool_ was made after the artist went to see divers in the South of France and decided to recreate the scene in his dining room, having his assistant pin the blue cut papers to the wall. He tells the boy about how he loved the dynamism and energy of the work when he first saw it, but that now it also makes him a little sad to think about the melancholy and loneliness that the artist must have felt when creating such a lively scene that he can only look at, but not really be a part of.

He confesses that, of the figures in the work, today he’s been feeling like one of the starfish that sit, passive and unmoving, at the bottom of the ocean. “But,” he adds, blushing and hesitant, “right now I’m wanting to be one of the divers jumping into the water. I want to be a little reckless and a lot fearless, I think.” 

In turn, Kurt finds out that the boy’s name is Blaine and he goes to school at Dalton Academy in Ohio, and for now he’s just visiting friends in New York but plans to move up here as soon as he graduates in a short few months. They discover that they will likely share a school from September, Blaine being hopeful about his chances of getting into NYADA, and that they both have had some painful experiences in the public schools of Ohio, experiences which only made them stronger.

When they are inevitably startled out of their conversation by a speaker coming to life somewhere above them to announce that the museum will be closing soon, Kurt has a phone number scribbled next to his sketches in his notebook, a warm fuzzy feeling in his heart and a detailed proposal for Isabelle about a spread on bowties as fashion pick-me-ups. Bowties certainly make _him_ aware of being alive, it seems.

As he is gathering his things up to leave the museum and grab a drink with Blaine, he feels a familiar prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

“You’re still not looking at the art, Blaine Anderson,” he teases.

“Oh, I definitely am, Kurt Hummel. I definitely am.” And there it is. Sin and temptation. _Hook, line, and sinker._


	2. Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few glimpses into what happens in the months after Kurt and Blaine's initial meeting. Kurt has some doubts and Isabelle is there to work her magic.

**This week in Fashion Pick-me-ups:**

_Lending a bit of colour and a lot of cheer to any outfit, **bow ties** might just be the fashion accessory you’re looking for to brighten up your days when the world outside doesn’t quite reflect your inner brilliance. Contrasting patterns, cute prints, bold materials! The possibilities are endless…_

“Kurt?”

“Yeah, Isabelle?”

“However did the Museum of Modern Art give you the idea to write an article about bow ties out of all things?

“Well… Um… So there was that painting, you know, next to that other one, and…”

“Actually, never mind This is brilliant. I’m taking credit for sending you to MoMA.”

“You really are my fairy godmother, aren’t you?” Isabelle just blows Kurt a kiss, pretends to cast a spell with a pencil she’s produced out of nowhere, and then she is gone ( _vanished like an echo or a dream…_ ).

*******

BLAINE:

_Top 3 things I should pack to bring with me to NY?_

KURT:

_1\. You._

_2\. You._

_3\. You._

_Honorary mention goes to that shirt you wore when we skyped on Monday._

BLAINE:

_This one?_

KURT:

_Yup._

_On second thoughts, maybe just bring that whole outfit._

*******

KURT:

_You can’t just send me a picture of your NYADA envelope and not tell me what it says._

_Blaine? WHAT DOES IT SAY?_

BLAINE:

_I’ve been told good news are best delivered in person, so that celebratory hugs may be exchanged._

KURT:

_YOU GOT IN!_

BLAINE:

_Open your door?_

KURT:

_I’ll hug the living daylights out of you._

***

“How are your legs feeling? Do you still have any circulation left in them?” Rachel knows it isn’t fair to pounce on a dazed-out-of-his-mind Kurt as soon as he steps foot inside the apartment after dropping Blaine off at the airport, but she would be remiss in her best friend duties if she didn’t do just that. And she takes her best friend duties very seriously.

“Huh?”

“You know, after having worn your tightest pair of jeans all weekend for the future Mr. Hummel?”

“Rachel,” Kurt groans. “He was just visiting his friends and dropped by to deliver the good news in person and ask a question or two about NYADA.”

“He slept on _our_ couch, Kurt, not at his friends’.”

“Exactly. He slept on the couch. It’s not like that, Rachel.”

Rachel would also be remiss in her best friend duties if she didn’t raise her eyebrows very exaggeratedly at that.

“It’s not like that!” Kurt repeats slowly. “God, these jeans are uncomfortable,” he adds and makes a beeline for his room.

It isn’t like that… is it?

***

 _You might ask yourself, dear reader, “But why should I wear a_ bow tie – _an article of clothing that is so decidedly_ not _me?” One that is typically only worn by grooms at weddings, stuffy businessmen at cocktail parties, or high school math geniuses with an affinity for the weird and wonderful? That is exactly the point, though. Let’s break down boundaries – between genders, social classes, or school cliques – one bow tie at a time. On this dreary, grey, slushy day in January, I encourage you, dear reader, to tie a bow instead of bowing down to convention. Just jump right in and see what you can find (dots, glitter, animal motifs?). Take a breath. Take the plunge. And you might just end up with the most fabulous paisley pattern you’ve ever laid eyes on._

***

It is one of those enchanted nights – time stretching endlessly, lights somehow warmer, the scent of the vegetables cooking on the stove just a fraction more fragrant, wine a tiny bit sweeter, touches just that much more keenly felt than at any other time. Of touches – so fleeting and soft, unassuming yet full of intent – there have been many. The briefest hug when Kurt opened the door to once more find Blaine on his doorstep, a touch of the fingertips when he handed over a bottle of red wine and a single red rose; the gentlest hip-check accompanying timid teasing and a hesitant brush of the thighs in that blessedly tiny kitchen space.

The world is so peaceful and warm around them that falling in love feels not like a risk, but like the easiest thing to do. The night is there to envelop them in softness and keep away the hurt once they reach the ground with their hands entwined. 

It feels as if there are no ifs ands or buts tonight. There is only a pull between them, one so strong that it makes Kurt feel utterly safe and connected and most assuredlly _not alone._

That sense of absolute connection is the exact reason why – when Kurt slowly comes to in the middle of the night, remembering every last detail and feeling and sensation but finding the other side of the bed cold, the sink empty of wine glasses and their flower vases neatly stored away on top of the kitchen cabinets – it feels like the cruellest joke his subconscious imagination ever played on him.

***

That lingering sense of safety and connection from his dream is also what causes Kurt to step out to his boss’s favourite coffee shop during his lunch break a few days later.

“Isabelle? Do you remember that time you fairy godmothered me to the MoMA and I ended up writing that opinion column on bow ties?”

“Oh, Kurt! You’ve brought coffee! Wait, you’ve brought large mochas for the both of us.” She observes with raised eyebrows and a sympathetic smile. Large mochas are only for highly inappropriate heart-to-hearts, which they both pretend are not quite-so-inappropriate by timing them for their lunch breaks. “Sit and spill, honey. Sit and spill. Just not on this dress, please – it’s vintage Dior.” She adds with a wink, then takes a sip of her coffee, curses when she manages to spill it on her dress all by herself, wonders why Kurt knows so much about stain removal from delicate fabrics, doesn’t ask, and proceeds to listen.

She listens to a story of boy meets boy, one who is sexy as hell and might just be confident enough to make Kurt – mature and competent, but oh-so-young when it comes to matters of the heart Kurt – feel sexy and confident too. She listens to the yearning in Kurt’s voice and what she hears is potential, she listens to his doubts and what she hears is a fear of falling headfirst into something that seems too good to be true. Above all, she hears the sound of cracks forming in a wall built way too high.

“Everything’s been so dreamlike, Isabelle. We text and call and skype, and I felt so alive that one time he visited me. But… _all_ we do is text and talk and maybe flirt a little – I think.”

“Definitely flirting, honey.”

“When I dream though, or daydream,” he adds with an adorable blush, “we definitely don’t _just_ talk, and it’s so perfect in my imagination. But I’m terrified that whatever’s in my head is just castles in the sky, and reality has no way of living up to it.

“Oh sweetie, how do you think you’ll find your prince if you don’t build a castle for the two of you to live happily ever after in? Sometimes you need to take a leap and trust the universe with the rest, you know.”

“What if I don't have much faith in the universe though?”

“Then you'll have to be all the braver to take the leap. A really wise young man I know once wrote an article about this. You should read it. It’s about bow ties,” she says with a wink. And that’s all it takes for Kurt to remember words once uttered on the floor in the middle of a museum. _R_ _ight now I’m wanting to be one of the divers jumping into the water. I want to be a little reckless and a lot fearless, I think._

KURT: _I’d like to take you out on a date. As soon as you get here._

BLAINE: _Just two more weeks, and I’m all yours._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on a second chapter to this story, but then I kept thinking up these snippets of conversation between Blaine and Kurt, so I thought I might as well give them their happily ever after. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and please let me know what you thought!


End file.
